The Morning After...

I walked in an empty land, what was it?

Death.

There was no thought, no hesitation, but why would I think to do such a thing? This was a bad idea, why did I have these thoughts? Why could I still think? Why could I still walk?

And there were one or two things that made me do this, and most of it was loss. Loss was sad, loss was tragic, but the reason I did this was because of my self-destructive thoughts.

I wandered through the deserted landscape, hands to my side, and when I noticed those dreadful hands, those broken hands, those shattered hands, I saw why I had done this. The death of my friend, the death of my mother, the death of my father, the death of all. And this was tragic.

"Why?" Those lost voices asked as I kept walking.

This was because of my stupid thoughts, pointless and worthless.

This was not fun or exciting.

Those dead voices whispered in my ears, and I didn't love their thoughts. They had all things to say to me, love, death... death... death.

Ahead of me, lay a figure in the haze, this figure was a friend. This friend had been gone for years, leading me down this spiral. My head rested against their shoulder, no words nor questions were exchanged. And at last I found inner peace, it took a while to find. But this inner peace was not fun or exciting, as I did not want to be gone. I did not want to be gone from that lost world, that I worked so hard to leave.

And the world that once saw me for who I was, now sees me for who I am. And I can already see the faces at my tomb, the loved, they loved, and they hated death. Death meant life leaving the body that was Earth. Earth was good. Good was perfect. Everyone loved the idea of people living, but what about the idea of people dying?

When I drew my life, I left, and I woke up here, in this empty land, this empty place, and with my broken hands, I gave up.

And the people of Earth were left crying. Leaving the Earth was a bad idea. Leaving the Earth was not what I wanted.

Peace was death. Death was bad. Bad was imperfect.

I would never get the chance to redeem myself, but everyone does, don't they. And I love the world, and so should everyone.

As my friend faded away, I continued to walk across the empty land, and in the land there was nowhere to go. Where do I go? Where do I stay? What should I do?

Further ahead in the haze I saw another figure, this one with a glaze. And they felt more alive, fuller than the last. And as I got closer, it was me, whole and unbroken. They had my thoughts, my body, my mind.

"What do I do now?" I asked, and they remained unchanged, unfazed.

"You didn't have to do this," they said with a gaze, "There were paths you never saw, help you never seeked."

I looked down at my broken hands, those shattered hands, "I was lost," I said, "I couldn't see the way."

"But now you have a chance," They nodded, "There is a journey, another way."

I wanted to believe, to see, to understand. And at last there was meaning to my shattered hands.

"You keep walking." They said, and my eyes lit with hope, "You find love, honor, respect for your new life."

With those words the vibrant figure disappeared in the haze, fading away without another word to say. I wiped my eyes, and continued on the long trek ahead. There was hope in this world, there was honor. And at last, my dreadful hands were healed.